


Under the Heart Tree

by darkstark



Series: True North [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:16:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4892524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkstark/pseuds/darkstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petyr Baelish returns to Winterfell for the wedding of Sansa and Ramsay, but Sansa has plans of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Heart Tree

**Author's Note:**

> There seems to be mutual agreement that season five ruined Sansa's character and storyline. It actually looked promising for the first three episodes or so, which only made the disappointment even greater. Here's my take on it, I hope you like it. :)

The late afternoon light gave the charred stones of Winterfell an eerie, ominous look. _That must be what Harrenhall looks like, only bigger,_ lord Baelish thought as he was entering on horseback from the south gate. The lord of Harrenhal had never set foot at his seat, and never intended to.

Inside the walls little seemed to have changed in the few weeks of his absence. The flayed man of the Boltons still billowed on the highest turrets, and the castle still looked half-destroyed from the fire, despite the efforts of its new tenants to repair most of the damage before the snows started. It didn’t matter to him; In fact, the less fortifications the Boltons managed to make, the better for his plans. But those would have to wait.

He saw Sansa the moment he entered the courtyard. Dressed in a dark blue velvet dress and a black woolen cloak, her hair its natural auburn once again and her skin as white as ivory from Essos, she stood in stark contrast to the servants and soldiers milling around her in the muddy, grey ruins. For a moment he wondered if it was possible for her to have grown even more beautiful during his absence.

“Uncle” she said with a small curtsey when he dismounted. “So good to have you back.”

“Dear Sansa. I hardly expected such a lovely welcome” he said in turn, entertained at the idea that hey had to play their roles once again.

“My Lord Bolton asked me to receive you. He begs your pardon, but he is holding a war council as we speak and cannot meet you. But he expects you at his solar after dinner” she said. Petyr studied her for a moment; her posture was that of a lady, aloof and composed, but spoke and looked at him demurely, her eyes soft with an innocence that ought not to be there any more. He almost smiled seeing how well he had taught her.

“I was thinking” she went on, “if my lord uncle is not too tired from his travel, that we could visit the crypts to pay our respects to my family.”

He accepted without question, continuing the charade they had to play in front of everyone. If there was a place where they could talk undisturbed, it was the crypts of Winterfell. He let a servant boy take his horse to the stables and with Sansa by his side he made for the crypts.

“It is true then? All the rumors?” She asked in a low voice, and he knew she meant Cersei.

“Yes. Quite a spectacle too.”

“I wish I was there too see” she said coldly and slid her arm through his. The physical contact surprised him pleasantly. At the Eyrie he was always the one to initiate gestures of what he liked to think was fatherly affection, and she had complied, but always in a dutiful, reluctant way.

“I almost thought you wouldn’t make it. For the wedding. It’s only in two days” she said. Her voice was level, but he could sense the slight bitterness. She was walking with long strides and he had to match his steps with hers to keep up.

“I thought you might have married a lot sooner. The Boltons must be anxious to secure their hold on the North.”

“They are, just as you had said. But they want it to be as legitimate as possible, as you know, with all the lords present. And it takes time for all of them to assemble.” 

“And what about your betrothed? I expected to see him in the courtyard instead of you.”

Though she was avoiding to look him in the eye, he saw the shadow that passed over her face.

“Ramsay has been hunting with his men for the last couple of days. He will return soon”

“And have you been doing with him as we have agreed?” he asked, like a teacher asking their pupil about their homework.

She looked him in the eyes for the first time, and there was darkness behind the bright blue. “He is not as you think he is.”

They had approached the entrance to the crypts, but to his surprise, Sansa kept walking with long strides.

“I though this was our destination” he said pointedly, but she just shook her head and kept going.

He ought to be displeased with her, he knew, daring to have plans that he was not made privy to. But there was something about her silent form leading him so decisively through the blackened ruins of her ancestral home in the fading afternoon light, that made him follow her without resistance. 

On they went, through the inner walls and away from the guards and workers around the great keep and into the even dimmer light and silence of the godswood. Once there, Sansa slowed her pace, but only stopped when they reached the ancient weirwood tree at the center of the grove. 

“The Heart Tree” she said with a hollow, yet reverent voice. “We should have peace here” she said then and sat under the ancient weirwood. The face that was carved in the trunk made Petyr uneasy, the sap trickling from the wounded bark resembling tears of blood. 

“Don't the Boltons worship the old gods, like all northerners?” he asked as he was taking a look a round. Among the oaks, pines and sentinel trees, it was hard to believe that a castle bursting of life was so near.

“The Boltons have no gods” Sansa said icily, and there was that shadow in her eyes again. Sitting there under the weirwood, dressed in the heavy and imposing style of the north, she painted the picture of vengeance that he wanted her liege lords to see.

She took his hand in hers and pulled it slightly, indicating that she wanted him to sit next to her. He complied, mostly because her sudden decisiveness had peaked his curiosity. They sat there for a few minutes in silence. The autumnal colours on the leaf-strewn ground and the few leaves traveling on the tranquil surface of the pond made him think of a place a lifetime away.

“I need to ask you for something” Sansa said finally.

He didn't say anything. He merely raised an eyebrow and steeped his fingers, like he did when he was about to negotiate a business proposal.

“Ramsay Bolton... he's not what you think. You know him to be as violent and ruthless as any Bolton, but he's much more than that. In the weeks that I have been here, I've seen him for what he is. He has those dogs... his girls he calls them. And each of them has the name of a real girl he's hunted down and killed. He's a madman. A cruel, vile, sadistic man, who only takes pleasure in harming and controlling others. I've tried to charm him, to win him on my side, to make him truly fond of me. But a man like him understands little of these things.”

“If you are worried for your own safety, I assure you-”

“No, it is not that. I am valuable to him, and even more to his father. I don't fear for my life. Ramsay will respect that at least. And from the half-words I've been hearing, Stannis is already on the march. But my wedding is in only two days, and Stannis won't be here by then.”

“And what is it that you want then?”

“All I want, is for you to have me before my husband does.”

When had she moved so close to him? When had her fingers knitted with his fingers? When had her breath started caressing his face?

“No” he said sharply. He tried to move away from her, but she grabbed him tightly by both his wrists.

“Petyr, _please._ ” 

Her blue eyes were big and expectant, and there was that hint of innocence again that ought not to be there anymore. Why did she have to ask for this now, when their plans had come so close to fruition? Why had she been so hesitant and distant at the Eyrie, when his fantasies gave him sleepless nights?

“This is a very dangerous game we are playing, sweetling. I thought you knew. We cannot risk everything when we are so close to achieving our goal.”

“No. These men betrayed my family, murdered my mother and my brother. I will not have them spoil me as well. If they must have me at all, it will be on my own conditions” she said through greeted teeth, and now there was no innocence in her eyes, only wrath.

“It cannot be; I have vouched for your innocence, you cannot risk-”

“The maester has already examined me. As far as the Boltons are concerned, I will be going to my bridal bed a maiden.”

She had thought of everything, he realized, as her grip on his arms started feeling uncomfortable. He could shake her off if he wanted, though he was a small man and she was tall for her age. But for reasons that he himself could not fathom, he made no move.

“Please” she said again, and this time she didn't wait for a response before straddling him. She left his wrists and the treacherous things let themselves rest on her hips out of foolish habit.

“Sansa...” he said, and to his dismay his voice came out hoarse, uncontrolled.

“Please... I think you want this too.” she said, her eyes downcast, demure once again.

_Oh yes, I do._

“I know... I know I have no experience, but I can try... and make this good” she said in a small voice. She started rocking herself on his loins, and despite the many layers of fabric that separated her skin from his, the mere thought that she was doing this made his body respond.

“Sansa” he said again, and now his voice came out clear, commanding. “If this is what you really want, this is not the time or the place. It can be better... much better than this.”

“There is no other time” she said, her voice serious, a hint of desperation creeping in it. She took his face in her cold hands and looked him steadily, the blue of her eyes painfully familiar to him. “I've never asked you for anything. I will only ever ask for this.”

She didn't wait for his answer. She merely leaned in and kissed him. He first thought it a chaste kiss, but then he felt her velvet lips parting ever so slightly, and he knew that this was different from all the other kisses he had taken from her. He responded eagerly, parting her lips even more with his tongue. Her warmth and taste were intoxicating, so much that his mind felt hazy for a moment, and without thinking it his hands moved from Sansa's hips to her waist pulling her closer to him, her small breasts pressing on his chest.

_It's only to scare her. She doesn't mean to go on with this. I'm only doing it to scare her, so that she stops this madness and we can proceed with our plan safely._

But when Sansa broke their kiss, it was not to move away from him. It was only to take a hasty breath, hug him tightly and whisper his name with delicious devotion. 

He had dreamed of this moment for a thousand days and nights; he had once dreamed of another red-haired girl whispering his name in the midst of their passion, a dream that proved futile and bitter. But this, this was so much sweeter, so much more rewarding.

He hugged Sansa tighter as they resumed their passionate kiss, reveling at the tastes of mint and sweet lemons mixing with one another. Soon his ache became stronger and as he started pushing away layers of fabric, it was as if he was pushing aside his fears as well. He ran his hands up her creamy thighs, feeling the wonderful antithesis of the gooseflesh forming on the silky skin exposed to the cold air. Her fingers ran through his hair, and his dug on her flesh. Fighting with the layers of fabric a little bit more, he finally reached her smallclothes. He felt her growing slower and more hesitant as he started undoing the laces. Perhaps she was scared after all. He searched her eyes for some sign of defeat, but he found none, so he gently slid his fingers between her folds. His heart soared when he found her wet.

 _She wants me,_ he thought, and it was a strange mixture of joy, relief and spite that filled him, before the passion resurfaced.

He found Sansa's nub and started circling it gently with his thumb. He felt her going a bit stiff, no doubt unfamiliar to the sensation that his movements produced. He could feel her uncertainty in her indecisive limbs, and somehow that excited him even more. He was in power once again, and she was only a pupil. He continued playing with her nub, gradually applying more pressure, and he watched with satisfaction as the girl's eyes lost their focus and her breath became more shallow. She was at his mercy now, but she didn't seem to mind. A small gasp escaped her mouth as he slipped a finger inside her, and then another. She responded more eagerly than he expected, instinctively rocking herself against his hand, her eyes now closed, her head tilted upwards and her mouth half open. 

His ache had become almost unbearable now, so he hastily unlaced his own breeches, his stiff manhood finally released from its painful confinement. He saw the shadow of doubt lurking in the corner of her eye, only to be substituted by decisiveness as he steadily guided her towards him. When he entered her, he felt a sweet darkness engulfing him. She let out a cry of pain, and for a single moment he felt her fragile and defenseless in his arms. But the moment passed, and she seemed to have found her courage once again.

She was everything and more than he could ever imagine, and everything about her got him drunk with desire: her lithe form writhing in his arms, her sweet, warm mouth, and her sweet, warm cunny; her inexperienced, yet eager moves; her heavy breathing synched with his; her soft moans now and then, balancing between pleasure and pain; her silky skin; her warmth, her glorious warmth, in a world that was getting colder and darker around them. He was too lost in the moment to think of the significance of all this, of finally making his the object of his innermost desire. He simply held Sansa tight, his fingers digging in the soft flesh of her buttocks and dictating their rhythm, faster and harder. Her breath caressed his face with each moan, her hands holding tight on him, her long auburn hair tangled around his neck in a strange sign of ownership. There was only them in this world, and soon there wasn't even a world, only the heat of their bodies and that relentless pressure building up, leading them higher and higher, to the most inviting darkness he had ever known.

In the last moment before reaching his peak, he had enough sense left to him to try and remove himself. But Sansa held on him, and her walls tightened so much around him, that he could only give in, and find sweet relief in spilling his seed inside her. 

They both stayed immobile for a while, Petyr still lost in the same velvety darkness that had engulfed him the moment he entered Sansa. Little by little, his mind found its way back into the world. He could feel the smooth bark of the weirwood on his back, the cold moisture of the ground underneath him. Sansa finally got up, and the lack of her weight on him gave him an odd feeling of emptiness. He slowly laced his breeches, and he watched Sansa curiously as she was smoothing down her skirts. He couldn't imagine a girl could look so composed after losing her maidenhead. There was certainty and calculation in her moves now, more so than before, and when she turned to him again, he saw determination in her eyes and in the tightness of her lips. 

“You should have let me move myself. Now we need to find you some tansy tea, and try to be discreet about it” he said as she sat next to him. To his surprise, she laughed softly.

“Tansy tea? Certainly not. I consider this my safety contract.” She leaned in and kissed him lightly, and in some strange gesture of affection that would have seemed unlikely less than an hour ago, she stroked his cheek with her delicate fingers before getting up again.

“Don't be late for dinner” she said, and with a small smile she set off for the castle, leaving him alone at the sacred woods.  
Despite the sweet haze he was still in, it took little time to understand what she had done. Under the watchful eyes of her gods she had bound him to herself in ways that ensured he could never betray her, could never seek her harm. And it was only now that it occurred to him that perhaps she had learned from him more than he had meant to teach her, that she had understood more than he had meant to disclose. And yet he felt no disappointment in himself or her, no anger. There was only pride for the pupil who exceeded his own expectations, and -why not- admiration for her audacious cunning. And there was satisfaction there too, he thought with a smile. After all, he had gotten something from her too. He always got something in return for what he gave.

He got up and made for the castle as well, leaving the dark godswood behind. It had only been a few minutes since Sansa had been by his side, but he longed to see her again, to see with clear eyes the player she had become in this game of thrones.

The Heart Tree was left desolate again, its white bark ghost-like in the dark, the sole witness of this tryst.


End file.
